


With Every Battle We Lose A Little More

by Drarrymadhatter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Forgiveness, Mentions of past abuse, Other, PTSD, Reconciliation, Room of Requirement, Slight Dumbledore Bashing, Slight Weasley Bashing, Suicide Attempts, Unsupportive Gryffindors, draco saves harry, harry saves draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarrymadhatter/pseuds/Drarrymadhatter
Summary: It's the morning after Harry cursed Draco in Myrtle's bathroom, and both boys are focused on their goals - if only they were the same.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. The Trick Is To Keep Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written with the title song in mind - The Trick Is To Keep Breathing by Garbage.  
> Songwriters: Douglas Elwin Erickson / Shirley Ann Manson / Steve W. Marker / Bryan David Vig  
> The Trick Is to Keep Breathing lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management

With Every Battle We Lose A Little More

By Drarrymadhatter

Draco leaned heavily against the corridor wall and gasped as the residual pain from _Sectumsempra_ surged and ebbed within and across his chest. _Where the hell had Potter learned that bloody curse anyway?_ Perhaps Madame Pomfrey was right and he should still be resting in the hospital wing, but recuperation was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly together, then tried to take steadying breaths through his nose. He would not allow himself to cry. He could only imagine what his father would say if he knew just how pathetic he had become. _Understand me Draco, for I will only say this once. Crying is a weakness, and a Malfoy never shows weakness._ The memory of the beating that had followed those words still made Draco want to whimper. 

Luckily, Severus had been there to help him as usual. He healed Draco’s wounds and stayed with Draco until the tears he was forbidden to cry had finally dried on his cheeks. Somehow, Severus always tried to help. Even now, even though there was no way for him to actually help. This was Draco’s task. His own burden. And no one else could help him. The sheer impossibility of his situation clawed at his skin and, for a moment, Draco wished that Potter had actually managed to kill him the night before. Draco puffed out a breath in frustration at himself and shook his head. If he had died, then he would have as good as failed. Who knows what _He_ would do to Draco’s mother and father as punishment. Draco could almost feel his deadline looming, like a Dementor just slightly out of attack range. Time, quite literally, was being sucked away from him. Draco let the crushing truth of that thought settle over him for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the wall and forced himself to walk, albeit slowly, towards the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor.

*****

Harry finished shoving his feet inside his trainers with an impatient grunt and fumbled inside his trunk for his map. Impatiently, he placed the tip of his wand on the parchment and mumbled _‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,”_ and held his breath expectantly. After a few seconds of frantic searching, Harry zeroed in on Malfoy’s name. Harry was surprised that Malfoy was no longer in the hospital wing. Having had first-hand experience of how coddling Madame Pomfrey could be, he’d thought it would be a couple of days at least before she released Malfoy. The only possible explanation was Snape — he must have vouched for him somehow. 

The thought of Snape sent Harry’s thoughts in an unwanted direction, reminding him of the night before. _What was I thinking?_ demanded Harry not for the first time that morning, as the memory of Malfoy lying pale on the bathroom floor covered in water and blood swam in front of his eyes. Never in his life had Harry felt as disgusted with anything as he felt about himself in that moment. He could feel the guilt poisoning his blood as it pumped around his body. He wasn’t stupid; he knew Malfoy could have died. The only reason he did was because Snape had been nearby. He needed to set it right and quickly. With that thought, Harry gave himself a shake and carefully watched Malfoy’s progress as he moved slowly from corridor to corridor. After a moment, it became clear where he was heading. Murmuring a quick _“mischief managed”_ at the parchment, he shoved it into his pocket and took off after Draco. 

*****

Draco sank into the cushions of the armchair he’d conjured and closed his eyes in exhaustion. His body ached from the walk through the castle, and he was covered in a distasteful and sticky layer of perspiration. No doubt he was sweating out whatever was in the many potions Pomfrey had force-fed him the night before. Draco wished—for what felt the hundredth time—that there was a window he could open, but knew there was nothing like that. The Room didn’t work that way — if the air was too hot then the Room would cool it, and vice versa. However, it was _he_ that was too hot, regardless of the temperature of the Room. The slight fever currently plaguing him was nothing but an unpleasant lingering side effect of the events of the previous night. 

Wearily, he lifted his wand and cast a cooling charm on himself, sighing with relief as he felt it settle over his heated skin. He allowed himself to sink further into the cushions and let his head fall back. Merlin, he was tired. If only he was able to get a decent sleep, then maybe he would have finished fixing the bloody cabinet by now. The temptation to slip into slumber was tantalising and becoming a very real possibility. What use would he be if he was too tired to think properly? _I’ll rest for a minute, just one minute,_ he told himself, as sleep started to creep over his body and into his mind.

*****

Harry stood cautiously outside the Room, peering carefully round the partially opened door. Never, in all the times Harry had tracked Malfoy to the Room of Requirement had Malfoy forgotten to close the door. Usually it was shut fast, and no matter what Harry did he couldn’t get it to open. However, this time, luck was on his side. Slowly, as careful as if he were hunting a dangerous wounded beast, he pushed the door open inch by inch, until he was able to slip sideways inside the Room. Glancing around, Harry quickly realised this was where he had hid his potions book the night before. Before he could put too much thought into why Malfoy would be in here of all places, he spotted him, unarmed and unaware, asleep in a plush looking armchair. 

_Wow, he looks like shite_ , thought Harry, as he edged closer to the sleeping figure. Harry realised he had never had an opportunity to really look at Draco before and allowed his eyes to rove over his body. He noted how pale Draco was, the dark circles ominous under his puffy and swollen eyes. He’d lost weight too, Harry realised, as he took in the hollow of Draco’s cheekbones and the highly visible bones within his neck. Whatever Draco was up to, Harry knew he clearly needed help. If he could get Draco to accept his apology, perhaps he could convince him to let him help. The thought emboldened Harry and he stepped ever closer until his thighs were brushing the arm of the lavish chair.

*****

Draco felt something tug at the edge of his consciousness as he drifted on the verge of deep sleep. His skin felt itchy, as though something was wrong, like someone was watching him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and let out a sudden yelp of shock at the sight of Harry Potter not more than a foot away from him, staring avidly at him as if he were some rare creature in a cage. Potter looked as surprised as Draco felt, having actually jumped back several yards in surprise at Draco’s sudden exclamation. Angrily, Draco hefted himself out of the chair and rounded upon his adversary, fury practically wafting out of his pores.

“What the fuck do you want, Potter? How the hell did you even get in here?”

Potter held up his hands placatingly and spoke very slowly and carefully, as though one wrong word would be his downfall.

“Easy Malfoy, I don’t have my wand out. I’m alone. You must have left the door open and I came in to—”

“To what? To fucking _what_ , Potter?” demanded Draco in disbelief.

“To apologise,” replied Potter, sheepishly. “I had no idea what that spell did and I’m sorry. No matter what you’ve done, you didn’t deserve that. No one does.”

“Yeah, right, Potter. You followed me all the way up here to tell me you’re sorry,” scoffed Draco, his words drenched in sarcasm.

“I swear, I just want to apologise, and make sure you’re ok. I’m disgusted with myself for using that spell. I would never do that to anyone, you have to believe me.” 

Draco couldn’t stand the whining plea in Potter’s voice. Clearly desperation didn’t suit the Chosen One. Suddenly overcome with the situation, Draco decided to give Potter what he wanted in the hopes he would leave.

“Fine. You’re sorry. I accept your apology. Now, will you do me a favour for once and just bugger off?” 

Without waiting for an answer, Draco turned his back to Potter and made a show of examining an old painting leaning against a nearby bookcase. He prayed that Potter would take the hint.

  
  


*****

Harry rather thought his intrusion into whatever Malfoy was up to had gone well considering what happened the last time he’d surprised him. Therefore, Harry decided that perhaps he should do as Malfoy asked and just leave. However, as he opened his mouth, he ended up saying something else entirely.

“Show me your left forearm, Malfoy.” 

Harry watched Malfoy’s eyes widen in alarm and his right hand immediately came to rest over his left forearm. 

“What the fuck, Potter? Just leave, will you?” 

Malfoy’s voice sounded desperate and pleading to Harry, and he decided that if he was going to help Malfoy, then this was the time to do it. 

“Your arm; I want you to show me. You see, I have a theory that you’re marked, that you have some kind of task from Voldemort, and that you’re in way over your head.” As Harry spoke, he watched Malfoy’s face take on a sickly pallor and beads of sweat form on his forehead. He took a few steps closer before continuing.

“I know you’re scared, Malfoy. I know you need help—”

“You know _nothing,_ Potter!” rasped Malfoy. Harry, however, was undeterred and continued as if Malfoy hadn’t interrupted him, purposely using a calm tone and slowly stepping closer with each word.

“And I can help you, or Dumbledore can. You don’t need to do this alone. First, just show me your arm.”

With that, Harry caught Malfoy off guard and lunged forwards, grabbing his left arm and wrenching his hand off of it, then forcing the sleeve of his jumper up to the elbow to reveal a very prominent, very dark mark.

*****

Draco jerked his arm away from Harry and slumped back against the bookcase in shock and despair. He could feel something welling inside him and rapidly blinked to clear his stinging eyes of all the unshed tears he had locked within. He looked at Potter just standing in front of him, mouth open in horror at having his theory confirmed. Somehow, Potter’s horror made the entire thing seem that much worse. If someone who had routinely faced and thwarted _Him_ was scared, then what hope did anyone else have? Draco suddenly couldn’t take it anymore, the entirety of the situation was threatening to choke him and, at a loss of what else to do, he slid down the bookcase to the floor, his mark still bared to the room. He gasped air into his lungs and tried to speak, only for the words to turn to ash on his tongue. He wanted to gag at the taste of his own despair. After several tense minutes, Draco finally managed to articulate his turmoil.

“You can’t help me; no one can. You think good and evil are split into black and white. Well, it’s not, Potter; it’s all grey. And you’ll never understand that. And that’s why you can’t help me.” Draco took a ragged breath and ran his tongue over his dry lips before continuing. “You can’t save me, Potter. Go Gryffindor somewhere else, will you?”

“Please, Malfoy, just tell me what Voldemort wants you to do,” urged Potter. 

Draco could hear the frustration in his voice and found he had no strength left to fight him. His eyes felt on fire with pressure, and he could feel tears begin to escape and trail wet paths down his pale cheeks. At length, Draco sighed bitterly and looked Potter in the eye.

“You don’t understand.”

*****

“No. But I want to.” Harry whispered. 

He could feel the helplessness behind Malfoy’s words, and his stomach ached for what he must have been going through. Slowly, he lowered himself down and knelt in front of Malfoy. Tentatively, he reached out a trembling hand towards Malfoy’s face and, ignoring the wince his touch drew from the other boy, Harry titled his chin up to gently force eye contact. 

“Let me help you,” pleaded Harry, half expecting Malfoy to punch him for getting this close. 

“I don’t know what you had in mind, Potter,” sighed Malfoy, “but we’re on opposing sides. There’s nothing you can do. Yes, I’m marked. No, I didn’t want to be, but the _Dark Lord_ doesn’t usually care what other people want. Yes, I have an impossible task that I’m never going to pull off, and when I fail, _He’ll_ kill me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Harry felt himself sag at the hopelessness of Malfoy’s words as he dissolved into silent tears. He sat down next to Malfoy and slid a comforting arm around the boy’s shoulders. 

“It’s going to be ok, I swear it. You look like you need a good rest and a decent meal, but first I need you to tell me everything you can and then we’ll go to Dumbledore. We should also tell Snape, I suppose. We can get your parents out and protect them if you think they’ll come.” 

Harry continued to soothe Malfoy, rubbing his thumb over the bone of his shoulder. Gradually, he felt Malfoy lean into his side and felt him lift his hand to where Harry was stroking him, lacing their fingers together. Harry squeezed Malfoy’s fingers in reassurance and pulled him closer still, letting the boy take all the comfort he needed. There was plenty of time to talk to Dumbledore later. 


	2. Our Time Is Running Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a couple of days since Harry and Draco met in the Room of Requirement and Draco is yet to make a decision.
> 
> This chapter was written to the title song - Our Time Is Running Out by Muse  
> Songwriters: Matthew James Bellamy  
> Time is Running Out lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc

Two nights later, Harry and Ron were being forced by Hermione to do their homework in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Ron was glaring at his Herbology homework as he grudgingly wrote his essay on Venomous Tentanctula. Harry had the same essay to do but had yet to actually write anything more than the title on his parchment. How was he supposed to write about snarky plants when he couldn’t get his mind off Malfoy?

“Oh, for the love of—” hissed Hermione furiously. “I swear, if you don’t at least _act_ like you’re paying attention, I’m not letting you borrow my notes!”

Harry had the grace to look sheepish and mouthed an apology her way before forcing his eyes to focus on his work. 

_Where was Malfoy?_

“Right, that’s it!” Hermione said with a huff an hour later, throwing down her quill and folding her arms in frustration. “Something’s wrong, and I want to know what it is.”

“What?”

“You’ve been somewhere else all day. You nearly ruined our potion, you forgot your books for Transfiguration, you barely ate anything at dinner, and now you’re just sitting there! Please don’t tell me this is about Malfoy, because honestly, I don’t know how much more of this nonsense I can take.” Her voice had reached a screeching level, attracting the attention of the few students still hanging around the common room. 

“Keep it down!” he hissed, not in the mood for yet another lecture. “Forgive me if I’m not feeling at my best. In case you’ve forgotten, I nearly killed someone yesterday!”

“Yeah, _Malfoy_ ,” scoffed Ron, ignoring the scandalised look on Hermione’s face. “It hardly counts!”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see him just lying there covered in blood. No one deserves that, believe me.”

Harry’s words seemed to mollify his friends as they returned to their work, although they kept looking at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. After a few more minutes of enduring their furtive glances, Harry had had enough.

“I’ll need to finish this another time,” he informed his friends, scooping his things into his bag. After bidding them goodnight, he strode off towards the dorms.

*****

Draco lay on his bed, the curtains drawn in an attempt to shut out the world. He’d spent most of the last couple of days hidden behind the heavy green drapes, thinking for all the good it had done him. He grunted as his stomach gave yet another protest at being empty, determined to ignore the hunger pangs. What was the point in eating anyway? It would just come right back up. He reached for his arithmancy book and tried to focus on the intricate equations. The class was one of his hardest, and the last thing he needed was his father berating him about his marks. Knowing him, impending death wouldn’t be an acceptable excuse for being distracted.

He hadn’t been to a single class over the last two days — luckily, his excuse of feeling under the weather was keeping inquiring minds at bay. He had more than enough to worry about without bothering with classes too. He started at the page, the numbers and symbols swirling around in front of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly through his nose. _This is pointless!_ He let out a low snarl and threw the book onto the foot of the bed. _I’m going to fail._

 _Fucking Potter_! Why the hell did he have to involve himself in everything? He couldn’t just leave well enough alone! Almost subconsciously, he pushed his left sleeve up to bare his mark. Slowly, he traced his fingers around the swirl of the snake around the skull, thinking of how disgusted and frightened Potter had looked in the Room of Requirement. Somehow, Potter’s horror made the whole thing that much worse, as if he could tell himself it wasn’t actually that bad if no one else knew about it. 

“Let me help you,” Potter had said. No, not said, _begged_ . His green eyes were shining with emotion as he comforted Draco. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the comforting weight of Potter’s arm around his shoulders, holding him. _Merlin, I’m screwed!_

Draco had a choice to make, and fast. Whatever he decided, he lost. He sighed heavily and sat cross-legged on top of his blankets, looking around his bed as if the answer would pop out at him. His eyes fell on the photo of his parents that he always kept beside his bed, and he reached out to stroke his forefinger down the edge of the frame, his eyes stinging at the smile adorning his mother’s face as she waved at him. _Salazar, what should I do?_ Resolutely, he kept his eyes on his mother’s smile as he slowly slipped into a fitful sleep.

Harry dumped his bag next to his bed and began frantically rummaging around in his trunk for his pyjamas. It had been two days since he’d sat with Draco in the Room of Requirement. _Two days_ , he thought angrily, as he tugged on his pyjamas. _Where the bloody hell_ was _he?_ Draco had said he needed to think about things. He still hadn’t agreed to go to Dumbledore yet, as he said he needed to make sure it was the right thing to do. 

Harry climbed under the covers and spelled the curtains closed. Harry had said he would give him some time, but surely enough was enough? As his eyes began to close, he knew he would need to speak to Draco in the morning, regardless of whether he had made his choice or not. Time was beginning to run short.

*****

Someone was screaming in what must have been agony, jerking Draco out of sleep. He looked around his bed — the curtains still spelled closed — and realised that it was he who was screaming. His left arm felt as if it were engulfed in lava and his throat felt raw and parched. _Circe, how long was I screaming for?_ Grateful that he had the foresight to place a silencing charm around his bed and blinking through his tears, Draco tried to force himself to breathe through the pain. He lifted his sleeve and saw the mark was bright black, the skin around his scorched red. 

_He_ was calling. After another few minutes, Draco had managed to bury his pain and panic. He had orders to check in with the Carrows when called and there was no point in dragging things out. _How in the hell am I supposed to get to the fucking Shrieking Shack without being seen?_

After a moment of frantic planning, Draco threw himself out of bed and put on his loafers and warmest cloak. He grabbed his wand and murmured a disillusionment charm on himself — it was nowhere near as good as an invisibility cloak, but they were rare, and he had to make do. At the last minute, he took the picture of his parents out of the frame. _At least I won’t be facing them alone,_ he thought, before folding the picture in half and tucking it into his pocket. He wondered what the Carrows were going to say — or more accurately, do — when they heard he’d made no additional progress, and his stomach rolled and heaved at the thought. He was glad now that he hadn’t eaten anything. 

He took one last look around the dorm at his sleeping classmates, hating them for their carefree lives, and proceeded to creep out of the dorm and towards the Shrieking Shack. 

*****

Harry jerked awake, his scar searing in pain. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gasping as his stomach twisted with nausea. The sound of Voldemort’s screeching voice was still ringing in his ears. _What had he been saying? He was planning something, giving orders, but what?_ Harry struggled to remember the details of the dream through the pain pounding in his temples. Trying to ignore the glee radiating through his scar, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to recall something, anything, about the dream. _The Shrieking Shack!_ Harry’s eyes flew open, and he gasped. Whatever Voldemort was planning was going to happen there, he was sure of it! He reached under his pillow for the Marauder's Map and activated it, frantically looking to see if he could observe anyone suspicious moving around. It didn’t take him long to zone in on a lone figure hurriedly moving across the castle grounds towards the Whomping Willow — _Draco Malfoy._ Harry felt his heart sink down into his stomach. 

He threw himself out of bed and scrambled through his trunk for his invisibility cloak, stuffed his feet into his trainers, and looked at the map again. Clearly, whatever Voldemort was planning, it involved Draco. He looked over to Ron’s bed, intending to wake his friend, and found the bed lying empty. He had a split-second moment of panic before remembering Ron had taken a bludger to the head during Quidditch practice and was spending the night in the hospital wing. 

Harry stood frozen in place, his brain racing to figure out what to do. He wasn’t stupid — it would be insane to follow Draco alone. He supposed he could always wake Hermione and get her to come with him, but how was he supposed to get the message to her? Boys weren’t allowed in the girls’ dorm, and if he tried, he would risk waking up the whole house. He could always activate the DA coins, but he didn’t want to start dragging his classmates into...whatever this was. He tried to hold back a shiver at the thought of a repeat of what happened at the Ministry. Harry pulled himself together and tried to focus on the task at hand.

There was nothing for it. He took a breath, waited for Filch's mark on the map to go towards the Owlery, then ran down the stairs and crawled through the portrait hole towards the Whomping Willow. 

Doing his best to keep quiet, Harry snuck along the tunnel. _Merlin, it was cramped in here_. As he got closer, the feeling of dread in his stomach got heavier. At last, he stepped into the Shrieking Shack, the room still as large and eerie as he remembered from his third year. The large room was as still and eerie as it ever was. “Upstairs,” he muttered, realising it must be where he needed to go. Nerves rising and wand drawn, he crept swiftly up each step until he could pause at the top, listening intently to the raised voices coming from the end of the hallway. Holding his breath, straining to hear whatever he could, he listened.”

“You know your orders, runt.” 

“Don’t speak to my son in that manner!” demanded a male voice.

“He is a failure!”

“The Dark Lord is running out of patience, whelp!”

He could hear movement and scuffling within the room as the words were being spoken, and he knew he had to get in there. Adrenaline thumped through his veins and overpowered the fear that had been dogging him. He took a deep breath, pulled the cloak securely around his body, and moved deftly into the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I've decided to expand this story into approximately 25 chapters. I'll update as often as I can. I originally wanted to update once a week but life got in the way.   
> 
> 
> Author's Note: This fiction was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.


End file.
